


take the ring to mordor.

by prismatic_starstuff



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: But they have the Dark Lord's spirit to keep them company so it's not all bad, Eventual Romance, Eventual Telepathic Conversations, Other, Reader is not going to have the easiest time getting there, Reader is on a journey to Mordor, Will add tags and characters as necessary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prismatic_starstuff/pseuds/prismatic_starstuff
Summary: You find yourself in an unusual position: a faceless man forces a ring into your hands and orders you to deliver it to a dark land far far away. Fearful of the consequences of refusing, you agree; but when a mysterious force reaches out to you from the ring, you find yourself far more personally invested in this journey than you had ever thought you would be...
Relationships: Sauron | Mairon/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 88





	1. in which you're going to have to get your door fixed at some point.

The door of your humble little home lies in broken wooden shards before you, and from your position kneeling on the floor, you tremble violently. The past few moments have gone by so quickly, shocked you so deeply to your soul, that you aren’t even particularly sure if they were real or not...

But, well, the fact that your home is now without a door makes a fairly strong case for the fact that no, you haven’t just dreamed the whole thing up.

The smooth metal that rests between your tightly clasped hands feels quite real, too.

Really, were you less shaken, you would very much be questioning why some stranger in armour and a cloak would break into your home almost solely to force a piece of jewellery into your hands. After all, that was hardly what could be called an everyday occurrence; even if all that _had_ been just a dream, it would be a very strange one. But right now... you just don’t have the energy to question anything. The night winds that blow through your doorway are chilling your body, your eyes are burning from fearful tears and the desperate need to sleep, and you’re silently cursing the fact that your old family home is so far from the rest of the village. Why did your forebears have the bright idea to build the place practically in the middle of the forest...?

Drawing a deep and still shaky breath, you carefully push yourself up to stand on uneasy legs, your eyes absently fixed on the remains of your door scattered across the floor. You realise in the back of your mind that you’ll have to get that fixed at some point, whenever you next get the time... though with a heavy heart, you resign yourself to the fact that it won’t be any time soon.

The armoured creature who had burst into your home hadn’t stayed around even long enough for you to see its face - in fact, you’re eerily sure it actually hadn’t had a face to speak of when you’d dared to look - but before it returned to the darkness of the night whence it had come, it had issued you with a command: one which you don’t even want to imagine the consequences of failing, and one which you know will be no quick nor easy task...

* * *

You wake the next morning after what you’re positive was still not enough sleep, eyes widening immediately as you sit bolt upright and your eyes scan the room. Where is that thing he gave you? You can’t lose it; you don’t even want to _imagine_ what that faceless thing would do if you didn’t do what it said! It broke your door so easily, it could probably break _you_ even easier, and--

\--oh.

Oh, it’s still in your hands.

Slightly warm against your tightly closed palm, it hasn’t moved in all the time you’ve been asleep... A heavy sigh leaves your throat, and you flop back down against your bed in relief, one hand raking itself across your face while the other holds tighter to the object. Not even a day in, and you’re already on the verge of losing your mind with worry... Wonderful.

With the figure’s words ringing in your head still, you drag your tired body out of bed and ready yourself for the day with all the cheer of a person facing their death... because, in truth, you aren’t entirely convinced that you aren’t in that very position. Your heart races in your chest every time you think of the night before, and when you try to think of how to handle this strangeness that has suddenly been brought to your door - well, your lack-of-a-door now - it fills you with a dread you’ve never known.

...Well. The house is freezing now, but at least the jewellery in your hand is still kind of warm.

You find your fingers tightening around it a bit harder, and for some reason that you’re not quite sure of, the action causes a little smile to tug at your lips... which is quickly replaced by a confused frown. You need to get a hold of yourself.

Drawing a deep breath, you head out into your sitting room; your stomach doesn’t feel like it could keep breakfast down, so you decide to skip it, opting instead to simply throw yourself into the mission you didn’t want nor ask for. The quicker you start, the quicker you’ll finish, surely... A small chest sits by your modest wooden chairs, and you kneel down to open it, finding yourself facing an assortment of things you’d picked up on your travels and kept around just in case you’d ever need them. Writings from wise travellers who’d stopped by the village, odd scribbles that were apparently magic incantations from further lands or recipes for mysterious potions, a not-so-sharp knife just in case... A-ha! Here it is: your map. Pulling it from the chest, you unravel it as quickly as you can with your one free hand, pausing only to whip your head away to one side and cough thanks to the dust it gives off; you don’t tend to leave your little house or the surrounding village often, so you haven’t exactly had much use for the map before now.

Your eyes widen as they scan the map and rove from around-about-where-your-village-is to around-about-the-area-where-the-thing-told-you-to-go, and you feel your heart sink into your stomach. How did he expect you to be able to get there?! It’s not exactly close! You don't have a horse or anything of the sort, and if your map is accurate, the place seems to be behind an entire mountain range!

Your hands clench, and as they do, the subtle warmth of the metal in your hand draws your attention to it; or maybe you simply want to look at anything other than the map and all that horrendous distance you’ll have to cross. Opening your palm, you quietly take in the sight of the gold glittering in the light of the morning sun.

It really is such a pretty thing, you think.

...It’s a shame that it’s probably going to get you killed.

Sighing heavily, you stand and return to your bedroom with haste, snatching up a bag and dropping your map inside. A few quick steps take you back to your sitting room and the little attached kitchen area, and you grab as much bread as you can possibly fit into your bag, haphazardly shoving it inside. Next, you shove a canteen in, taking a mental note to get some water at the earliest opportunity... then you take a moment to gasp in horror because you’re sure you’ve left the piece of jewellery somewhere and you forget where, and your head thrashes from side to side and you prepare to panic; and then you... remember it’s still in your hand...

You really need to get a hold of yourself, and you know it. Head dropping, you allow yourself a second to groan, and to simply feel _sorry_ for yourself. Why you?! Why, of all the people in all the villages in all of Arda, did the big armoured man with no face have to choose _your_ door to smash in? Why did he have to choose _your_ hands to drop off his trinket in? Why did he have to choose _you_ as his delivery person?

Turning your eyes up to face the view of the lush green woods past where-your-door-used-to-be, you swallow thickly, hand tightening around the metal object in your hand as though your life depends on it.

_“Take the ring to Mordor,”_ he’d said.

Surely that wasn’t an impossible task... right?

Hefting your bag over your shoulder with your free hand, you throw caution and worry and doubt to the wind and take your first (not-so) resolute steps outside your house. Impossible task or not, you had to at least try... Really, you did _not_ feel like meeting the same fate as your poor door.

The sun beats down upon you from above, and with the warmth of the ring seeming to match it in intensity, you begin the long trek ahead.


	2. in which you meet some strange new 'guards.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You continue on, comforted by the warmth of the Ring you've been forced into safeguarding, though your questions about it only keep multiplying. Faced with a strange group who've been sent to keep the 'ringbearer' out of danger, your journey to Mordor begins in earnest...

The brightness of the morning doesn’t do a thing to brighten your mood; as you step through the forest, you can’t help but glance around left and right, turning behind yourself and looking every which way to ensure there’s no danger around. You’d never seen anything like that-- that _thing_ that broke into your house before in all your days, and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since... Knowing that there were things like that in the world, and nearby to you at that, you cannot shake the feeling that you are in grave danger.

The village, quaint and humble, begins to come into view before you. You draw a deep breath; you’re absolutely not in the mood to see any of the residents right now, you don’t feel as though you could handle conversation...

But your tension is soon replaced by confusion, and it shows on your face, a deep frown creasing your eyebrows.

As you draw closer, you begin to notice something quite unmistakable: the village is... quiet. In fact, the village is near enough _silent;_ there are no people milling about, there are no faces in the windows, there is... nothing.

“Oh no.” Your eyes widen, and you stop in your tracks. What if that _thing_ had gotten to them, too? What if it had killed them all? What if there was no-one left alive?! “Oh please, please no...”

Your breathing quickens, and you’re stricken stock still by dread. You can’t face the thought of going in there and seeing the carnage; you couldn’t bear to see the kind locals of the village with no light in their eyes, no life in their bodies... The ground suddenly rushes to meet you, and although you didn’t even realise it had been happening, you’ve fallen to your knees on the dirt.

And there you stay, because you cannot think clearly enough to even try to move. You try to tell yourself that you need to go on: if you don’t get the ring in your hands to Mordor, that _thing_ will end you, will hurt you, will punish you; he hadn’t said it, but something in your soul knows it to be true...

But you can’t move.

You’re panicking.

You’re almost crying.

It’s hopeless.

The odd warmth of the ring in your hand is all you can feel aside from fear and despair, and absently, you bring it to your heart and clasp your other shaking hand atop it. You find yourself trying to focus on the warmth, since it is the only tangible feeling around you that isn’t unpleasant... and as you latch onto it tightly, squeezing your palm rhythmically around the metal as a way of bringing your racing mind back down to Arda, you find yourself very surprised by the outcome.

It actually works.

Slowly, you find your panic abating, rational thought beginning to shine through the fog of your fears. There will be other reasons for the quiet in the village, you tell yourself. The people may not be dead. Everything may be completely fine...

...and you realise, whether you like it or not, that the only way you will know is if you get up and investigate.

Blinking past the blurriness of your unfallen tears, you slowly push yourself to your feet, feeling an unusual swell of pride in yourself as you get yourself upright once more. Eyes fixed ahead on the village, you draw a deep breath, opening your hands and glancing down at the ring.

“Looks like there’s no way but forward, little guy,” you murmur wryly, a slightly shaky smile crossing your lips before you clasp your hand closed once more and continue on your way.

...You do not notice the faint orange glow of the script that circles the ring, nor do you understand the angry prickling sensation that seems to emanate from it.

* * *

The good news: the people _are_ still alive, and they seem to be safe in their houses.

The bad news? The village has been overrun by bizarre creatures, and as soon as one of them catches sight of you, suddenly they're all rushing in to crowd around you as though you’re the best thing to happen to them all year.

“The ringbearer!” one of them cries in a deep and rough voice, a grin stretching his green-coloured face and exposing his... teeth? Tusks? You weren’t sure...

“You sure?” another questions, turning his head to look your way; and when he sees you, he raises his mace in what seems to be joy. “It is! It’s the ringbearer! Praise be to the Lidless Eye!”

They run to join the others who have circled around you, and as you look around in utter confusion, you decide to get to the bottom of this and ask who they are. Opening your mouth, you say--

“Kneel.”

\--Oh. That... that was _not_ what you’d meant to say, not at all. Where had that come from?

Before you can correct yourself or explain, the creatures immediately fall down before you; some kneeling, some pressing their heads to the ground, some still gazing in awe.

“N-No,” you begin, looking around frantically, “you don’t have to...” Drawing a deep breath, you sigh, using your free hand to wipe at your brow. Things were just going to keep getting more and more bizarre, weren’t they...? “Listen, can one of you please tell me what’s going on here? Who are you all?”

“We’re the Orcs!” one of them, who seems to be a bit bigger and a bit wiser than some of the rest, proudly informs with a bright, sharp-toothed grin. “Sent ‘ere by the Witch-king to ‘elp you in yer mission to get the Ring to Mordor!”

“The Witch-king...?” you question, head tilting. All at once, a flash of your door being smashed down comes into your mind’s eye, and your physical eyes widen in response. “Oh... right... _that_ Witch-king...” Blinking the thought from your mind, you look down at the squad of assembled orcs. There had to be over twenty of them, at least... not that you had the time to count. “So, you’re... my guards, basically?”

Snickering, the orc - who you decide to call Lead Orc until you get the chance to ask his name - shrugs his massively broad shoulders. “Somethin’ like that,” he responds dismissively. “We’re in charge of keepin’ you outta danger; and _especially_ keepin’ the Ring outta danger. We’re at yer service until you’ve done what you gotta do.”

In a way, you find yourself comforted by the fact that all these strong warrior-looking creatures are claiming to be at your service; but in a way, you simply find yourself even more confused. How important _is_ this piece of jewellery? It isn’t exactly normal to send a platoon of creatures to guard a thing purely because it’s pretty and gold... unless it is? Your little home is quite far away from anyone and anything, apart from the village which is fairly remote in itself... “I have so many questions,” you sigh again, your hand now pressing against your forehead since you’re sure you have a headache coming on.

“‘m sure you do,” Lead Orc nods, lips stretched into an amused grin. “And we’ll do what we can to fill you in. But fer the time bein’? We ain’t got time to waste. We don’t wanna risk makin’ _Him_ impatient.”

“Him who?” you frown deeply, head tilting a bit. “The Witch-king?”

“Oh-ho, trust me, the Witch-king’s got _nothin’_ on Him.” Lead Orc stands, and he motions a hand covered in a heavy iron gauntlet to his fellow orcs, leading them to rise to their feet alongside him. “Now c’mon, ringbearer. Mordor’s waitin’, an’ it’s a long journey ahead.”

Before you can say anything, he grabs onto your wrist and jostles you along with a firm tug, almost causing you to trip over your own feet. Your eyes narrow and you huff a little, but you choose not to argue with him... All things considered, if these orcs really are your ‘guards,’ you don’t really want to burn the only alliance you currently have in this strange endeavour.

“Wait,” you finally find your voice, though the orcs don’t stop their stride at your command, and you don’t stop either; you don’t think it would be a wise idea. “The people in this village--”

“--are fine!” Lead Orc interrupts, giving you what was perhaps supposed to be a comforting pat on the back, though it kind of knocks the wind out of you. “We just told ‘em to stay inside until we got ya. Didn’t want anyone seein’ ya an’ rattin’ you out to anyone who might try an’ stop ya.”

You frown up at him. “’Try and stop me?’ Why would anyone do that?”

Lead Orc just laughs at you, shaking his head and turning to face forward. It isn’t a comforting laugh. Actually, _none_ of this is comforting.

Well, at least the ring isn’t prickling in your hand anymore.

That’s a plus... right?

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly the first time I've written in second person POV in a long while, so I hope it's decent! Also: while Sauron isn't directly in this chapter, he will start making his presence known as the journey goes on. Don't worry, y'all won't have too long to wait, hehe!


End file.
